Vous n'en savez rien
by SailorHikarinoMu
Summary: There is no way that Willem, reputed miser and phlegmatic personification of the Netherlands, could love Matthew. Nope, not possible. Warning: M/M, yaoi, Netherlands x Canada, unrequited Canada x World-ish. The setting is Vancouver, BC, Canada, during the 2010 Olympics (sorry, I couldn't help myself).
1. Chapter 1

For those who are wondering, 'vous n'en savez rien' is French for 'you don't know a thing'.

Willem van der Meer – The name I liked best for the Netherlands. Its English equivalent would be 'William from the Lake', or so the Internet told me.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Simple as that.

A/N: Netherlands x Canada…. Yeah, needless to say, I absolutely love this pairing! Just FYI, this takes places during the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics (though it's not the main plot or anything). I'm still rather new to Hetalia… so I feel like I really missed out on 2010, and so that's why I chose to post this! Because the Winter Olympics are always such a pleasure to watch, let alone write about. So, 'better late than never', yeah? At least, I hope so…

Here goes!

 **Vous n'en savez rien (You Don't Know a Thing)**

DAY 3

"Hell yeah, bro! Good job on winnin' gold. Seriously though, you sure showed us who's boss!"

"Gold is very good color on you, Matvey. I am glad."

"Hey maple-bastard… that wasn't half bad."

"That was bonzer, mate! That bloke of yours sped like a rat down a drainpipe on those moguls. Good on ya!"

"I agree. That was incredible, Canada-san."

"Your people are very talented, aru. Well done."

"Yes, well done indeed, my boy! You've grown to become a wonderful young nation. Absolutely brilliant, lad. Sensational."

" _Oh mon petit Mathieu adoré! Papa est si fier de toi! Et en plus, c'était un Québécois!_ _Comme tu as grandi, mon cher fils!_ "

"Even I have to admit your guy did pretty awesome out there, Birdie. I can't wait to see your hockey teams play. And they better deliver! I bet some good cash on them."

The shower of compliments continued to pour over the Canadian, some from nations he had hardly ever spoken to before, others from his closest friends and allies.

…Yet, the one nation one would expect to see right at the North American's side and doing the most cheering could be seen leaning on the wall at the far end of the room, a lit pipe between his silent lips.

"Hey dipshit, how 'bout you get out of that little corner you're in and haul your pot-addicted ass over here. Out of all of us, you should be the one complimenting him the most," Alfred snarled, openly glaring at the personification of the Netherlands over the rim of his glasses. "Some boyfriend you are," he then growled under his breath.

This entire situation was nothing new, for Alfred was not the only one wondering why, of all people, Matthew appreciated the Dutchman as much as he did. For the last few decades or so, whether in meetings or in public, the Canadian had often been seen by the older European's side. It was strange, to say the least, because despite the facts that Willem rarely spoke to Matthew when in each other's presence, that he barely payed the Canadian any attention to begin with, and that he never even looked happy when with Matthew, the two were apparently still going strong. Whenever someone asked, the Canadian always shrugged and walked away, whispering something along the lines of ' _no one could ever love me more than he does_ '. It was obvious to everyone that Canada must have somehow confused the definition of 'romance' with that of something else.

Feeling a cool hand land on his shoulder, the American turned to meet the prettiest pair of violet eyes, his brother's eyes.

Canada.

"Don't worry about it, Al. That's just the way he is. Leave him be," were said nation's words. He then smiled. "But thank you for always having my back. I appreciate it."

Face now a flamingo pink, America faked a cough, and waved his hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. It's just my duty as a hero, 's all."

Prussia then stepped forth, a frown on his usually mirthful face. "Your brother's right though, Birdie. That jackass over there should be here celebrating your newest accomplishment. I mean, this is a huge deal for you. This is the first gold medal you've ever won on home soil and he's over there practically ignoring you. I'll never understand what you see in him." The German-speaker shook his head, internally livid – and a little green with envy. After all, Matthew could have been his. It could have been Gilbert that the Canadian was dating, yet the latter had, by some ironic twist of fate, ended up with that damn greedy, perverted, drug-addicted Dutchman.

And that was something many nations (especially those closest to Matthew: mainly America, Prussia, France and England, amongst others) did not – could not – accept.

"I agree, _Mathieu_. Surely, _Pays-Bas_ is… how do you say… not worth your while? Just look at him, he has not smiled once since the news of Alexandre Bilodeau winning gold made the headlines. _Honnêtement_ , that in itself _ne présage rien de bon_." France, ever graceful, flipped his bangs to the side. His lips then (not-so-gracefully) curled in disdain at the sight of the Dutch nation. "Perhaps there is someone out there much better suited for my sweet _petit garçon, oui_?" he purred, cupping his former colony's cheek.

"Guys, really. There's no need fo–" Matthew attempted, before being interrupted by England.

"As much as I despise saying this, the frog makes sense." Arthur paused to slap the Frenchman's hand away from the Canadian's face, before resuming, "We older nations… well besides America of course–"

"Shut it, limey!"

"–have been around Willem long enough to know that he's not right for you." At an eye roll from the Canadian, Arthur pressed, "Trust me. He'll just use you for the fun of it, and leave. And the last thing I want is to see you with a broken heart." He then patted Matthew's head, affection lacing his every word. "No son of mine should have to go through that. Ever. And so help me if it ever does come to that, I'll have the culprit hanged by their toes."

Every single nation present suddenly whipped their heads around when deep, rumbling chuckles reached their ears from the back of the room.

The Netherlands had left his previous spot against the wall and was now leisurely making his way towards the door, his previous chuckling dying out as he moved. When the room grew quiet, he sent a lingering, almost lazy glance to the Canadian out of the corner of his eye. He pointedly ignored his fellow personifications and spoke solely to Matthew, exhaling a puff of smoke on the same occasion. "I'll be in our room, if you need me."

As the Dutchman's footfalls diminuendoed down the hall, the assembled nations turned to Canada.

Expectance, apprehension, disapproval, loathing, shock…

Matthew saw a mix and match of these things flash through their eyes, to which he answered with a dismissive shrug of shoulders, "You all just don't understand."

He then politely excused himself, and promptly left the room.

* * *

End of the First Chapter – Fin du Premier Chapitre

Translations:

The word 'bonzer' (also spelled 'bonza') means brilliant/excellent in Australian/NZ English. I spent a half hour researching what I'd make Australia say, because I honestly have limited knowledge concerning Australian slang… Though I did learn a number of new words! Bonza!

" _Oh mon petit Mathieu adoré! Papa est si fier de toi! Et en plus, c'était un Québécois!_ _Comme tu as grandi, mon cher fils!_ " – French for "Oh my adored little Matthew! Daddy is so proud of you! And it was a Quebecer too! How you have grown, my dear son!"

 _Pays-Bas_ – French for "Netherlands"

 _Honnêtement_ – French for "Honestly"

 _Ne présage rien de bon_ – French for 'does not bode well'

 _petit garçon, oui_? – French for 'little boy, yes?'

Extra info:

In case you haven't already figured it out, here's the order of the people speaking at the beginning: America, Russia, South Italy, Australia, Japan, China, England, France, Prussia. I originally didn't have Australia speaking (since I was scared of making some type of mistake, what with Australian English being different…) but the guy that won second place to Alexandre Bilodeau was Dale Begg-Smith, an ex-patriate Canadian competing for Australia (he was actually born in Vancouver). So… it gave me a good reason to add in Australia, even though I _did_ have to watch a ton of YouTube videos on Aussie slang… All I could say is I hope I nailed it. If the Australian is wrong, please don't be shy to tell me.

With love from Canada,

~SHnM


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the follows and favs. You guys are awesome :) !

Mikkel – The name I liked best for Denmark. Its English equivalent would be Michael.

Disclaimer: Still don't own…

A/N: It's true. Americans (and Canadians, by the way) do love their milkshakes. It brings all the boys to the yard, didn't you know? Yes, that was a very sucky joke. Bear with me please. Anyways, here's some overprotective America, France and England. Oh, and we get to see some Japan and Denmark too, yay! (could you tell I love these characters?)

Enjoy!

 **Vous n'en savez rien (You Don't Know a Thing)**

DAY 4

America absentmindedly shoved a fistful of cheesy nachos into his mouth, a deep furrow between his brows. He then washed it down with a gulp of his chocolate-caramel milkshake (who cared if it was freezing outside? He was always up for the good ol' American classic that was the milkshake), his frown only deepening while he reflected.

It was the fourth day of the Games, yet the superpower had his thoughts elsewhere.

It was just, what the hell did his Mattie _see_ in that European bozo. Was it the hair? Or the free weed? Then again, the Dutch dude was so damn stingy with his money Alfred doubted he gave anything without some sort of compensation.

And that was when it hit him; Matthew was obviously just going out with the guy for his daily fix. He knew his brother to be a secret junky, what with that BC bud apparently being one of Canada's major exports. So that had to be it! Matt was only dating the dude for the drugs! None of that surprised him though; his brother had always been a sneaky little bastard.

With a last slurp of the liquid dairy goodness, he sent a triumphant fist pump in the air and proceeded to head towards the slopes, where Canada was surely watching the men's snowboarding final.

* * *

America was making his way through the crowd, cursing the cold weather yet intent on finding his brother. Pulling his winter hat further down over his ears, he continued to keep a watchful eye out for the Northern nation.

Though, just as he spotted the telltale wisp of blond curls ways away, a taller figure stepped forth, hiding the Canadian from view.

* * *

"Your hot chocolate, Sir-Matthew-Winter-Host-Extraordinaire and first-time-gold-medallist-on-home-soil," the Dutch nation teased, pressing a chaste kiss to the Canadian's cheek.

With a light chuckle, Canada turned to accept the steaming cup gratefully. "Thanks." He took a sip, allowing himself a moment to fully appreciate the warmth seeping down and through his body, before adding, "You know, I've got a good feeling about these Games. It's different from the last times I hosted them. I don't know how to explain it."

"Then don't. Just enjoy it while it lasts," the Netherlands suggested simply, stealing another kiss – though, this time on the lips – and smiling at the chocolaty taste. Kissing Matthew was a favorite pastime of his, one he could never possibly get enough of.

With a coquettish smile, the Canadian responded to the kiss with equal fervor, forgetting about the progressively cooling hot cocoa in his hand to instead lose himself in the moment.

As a result, they completely missed the event – and thus the announcement that one of Matthew's athletes had won silver.

They also missed the bewildered American pushing his way through the mass of cheering fans, hurriedly disappearing from the mountainside.

* * *

"We need to call an emergency meeting ASAP y'all! Mattie's been brainwashed! That scum-sucking porcupine has corrupted my baby brother and I won't stand for it," the American bellowed as he set foot through the double doors that led to what the assembled nations dubbed 'The Olympic Chill Lounge'.

Though with the way Alfred had burst in, the 'chill' part was no longer applicable.

"Tell us something we don't already know, would you?" England snorted, taking a tentative bite of his poutine (well… he was in Canada after all, so might as well try it).

Alfred frowned at his former caretaker, but continued to talk regardless. "I saw _them_. Together. At today's snowboarding finals." The words caused their desired effect almost immediately as the eyes of every nation in the room landed on the superpower. "Yeah. Matt was watching the event until that Holland dude showed up and offered him a cup of something. It was probably illegal for all I know, because once Mattie drank that shit, he legit _stopped_ watching his athletes in favor of making out with him. And we all know that my brother would _never_ miss out on watching his citizens perform, especially during the Winter Olympics, and _especially_ when one of his people has a chance of winning a medal, which actually ended up by happening. One of his guys won silver, but he was so busy doing the 'icky' that he didn't stop to check the score board even when it was announced through the speakers for everyone to hear. So obviously, what that crackhead gave him was either a _super_ powerful aphrodisiac, or some _super_ powerful drug that not even I know about. Either way, it had to be quite strong to get Matt to do what he was doing." The American crossed his arms while nodding slowly, an almost grave expression on his face.

France and England gave each other a look, before turning to the North American.

"Alfred, is this really true? Or is this another one of your pranks? Because if you are joking, it isn't funny, _mon ami_ ," Francis warned, Arthur nodding in agreement.

Said American casually shoved a hand in one of his pants pockets, the material hiding his crossed fingers – because although he hadn't necessarily lied, he _had_ foregone certain details while exaggerating on others.

But that was fine by him; desperate times called for desperate measures, right? And if committing the unheroic was what it took to get that Slim Shady of a European away from his sweet little brother, then it was well worth it.

"I assure you all that I'm serious this time. I saw the whole thing with my very eyes."

By then, it was Prussia's turn to speak up, "That son of a… I can't believe that guy. He can't get Birdie to love him like he wants, so he turns to drugs? That's just sick!"

At that, many of the other nations approved, some even voicing their own concerns and criticisms concerning the Dutchman.

Sitting at the far end of the room, Belgium sighed; seeing these meddlesome personifications adding their own two cents regarding her brother's relationship with Canada did not bode well in the slightest.

Clearly, these bothersome nations were all too blinded by their prejudices and haughtiness to understand….

* * *

DAY 7

To say that the Netherlands was pleased was in and of itself a major understatement. He was practically radiating, yet no one but Canada and the few nations that knew him well would have ever known that. Because the only thing different about the Dutchman was the barely-there smile playing on his lips, and to those who were really looking, the somewhat convivial air emanating from the usually reserved European.

And who could blame him, really?

Two of his female speed skaters had just won medals: one silver, the other bronze.

And the one who had claimed the gold?

A Canadian. One of Matthew's.

And had it not been for Willem's athletes, another Canadian would have been able to access the podium, the woman in question having come in fourth.

Indeed, he was truly pleased.

The Dutch nation's thoughts came to an abrupt standstill as a hand suddenly squeezed his own. Looking slightly to the side, pea green eyes met excited violet.

And barely a second later, lips met lips, Canada's rangy, yet hockey-strong fingers all the while losing themselves in the gelled immaculateness that was the Dutchman's hair.

Not that Willem minded; on the contrary, he more than encouraged it, what with the way his own hands were now anchored at the other's waist, pressing the North American closer to his self.

It was only when they heard someone pointedly clear their throat that they stopped, the Dutchman sending a murderous glare at the one who had interrupted such a sweet, victorious moment, though softening at the sight of the Japanese nation.

Having finally captured their attention after a while of coughing and calling their names, Kiku could only blush, suddenly nervous. "C-congratulations. T-that is… regarding the race, of course. Your athletes are exceptionally talented. You both must be very proud."

Canada chuckled, glee-filled eyes practically sparkling behind his glasses. "I should say the same for you Japan. Fifth place isn't all that bad, after all. Especially concerning the fact that you're more of a Summer Olympics kind of guy." He smiled warmly. "Quite frankly, it is an honor having you here. I trust that you have been enjoying your stay thus far?"

The redness in his cheeks having finally lightened to a soft raspberry, Kiku nodded. "Yes. Very much so. Your citizens have been treating me with nothing but kindness. Thank you for asking." Swiftly whipping out his mobile phone, the Japanese man was practically overwhelmed with relief at the time displayed on the screen, yet hid the feeling carefully, mindful of the fact that his Dutch friend could read him like a book. "I apologize, but I really must be going. Again, thank you for the race. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Canada-san." He then inclined his head towards the Dutchman. "Holland-san."

And as quickly as he had appeared at their side, Japan bowed and walked away, leaving Canada and the Netherlands to stare at his quickly retreating figure.

After a moment, well after Kiku had disappeared from their line of sight, Matthew shrugged, pulling his partner toward the arena's exit. "C'mon, the day's only just begun. There's the men's figure skating final that's starting soon, and the women's halfpipe final too, not to mention the curling match where my men will be facing Francis' later tonight. Wouldn't wanna miss out on all of that, now would we?" Matthew winked.

The European shook his head, amused by the Canadian's eagerness.

With that, the pair made their way outside, the Dutchman all the while adding a mental note to speak with Japan alone.

Because as much as Kiku was a master at concealing emotion, Willem was sharp, and had an eye for even the slightest of twitches.

And one of Japan's eyes had most definitely twitched.

* * *

Canada sulked in his seat. Why did so many of the events have to be going on at the same time? He had wanted to see the women's halfpipe snowboarding final, but it overlapped with the curling match, and he had already missed the first few games his men had played. Plus, having just finished watching the men's figure skating, the curling venue was closer to him than Cypress Mountain, where the snowboarding event was taking place.

And obviously, it was impossible to be in two places at the same time.

…Unless he asked Arthur to use some of his magic. Though, if he were to be truly honest with himself, that idea made him cringe.

" _Ah Mathieu, mon cher fils, bonsoir! Mais… pourquoi as-tu l'air si malheureux? Allez, allez, raconte. Attends une seconde, est-ce que c'est cet abruti de Néerlandais? Le monstre! Comment ose-t-il te faire le moindre mal?_ "

Canada almost jumped at the sound of France's voice, wondering how he had not noticed the Frenchman sitting right on his left, yet answering, " _Hein?_ _Mais pas du tout! Bien au contraire, il m'rend heureux._ "

Francis eyed his so-called 'son' warily for a moment, waiting for the barest indication of deceit to appear on the Canadian's face, before sighing when nothing showed. "Fine. But if he does anything, and I mean anything at all –"

"Yes. I know. You'll chop off his balls and feed them to the ducks. No need to tell me."

Francis looked perturbed, 'tsktsk'ing before admonishing, "Now, now _Mathieu. Il n'y a aucun besoin d'être aussi vulgaire_. I had thought I raised you better than that."

Canada was on the verge of retorting with a nasty remark (more or less concerning his early history as New France), until the Netherlands suddenly made his presence known with a loud cough.

Oh yeah… Willem had been sitting right there this entire time. Awkward…

Nevertheless grateful to the Dutchman (he knew Willem to dislike attention, being the discrete man that he was), Matthew simply kept his thoughts to himself, choosing instead to change the topic of conversation. "Anyways, the curling match seems like it's going to be starting soon, eh? Word is your team's pretty good. Can't wait to see that for myself," he spoke politely.

Francis, on his part, was currently much more focused on the Dutch nation sitting casually by his son's other side, looking apathetic as per his usual.

To think that his precious _bébé_ was dating  that. How distasteful.

" _Oui_. I as well cannot wait to see your team's performance, _mon cher Canada_. I am much aware that your men are on a winning streak." Francis answered distractedly, eyes locked on the other European yet still conversing with the North American.

"Hiya guys! Nice to see ya all!" a voice suddenly boomed from behind.

The trio turned in their seats only to see Denmark waving wildly towards them as he approached along with Norway, Switzerland, England (or Great Britain as he was referred to in the Olympics) and Sweden.

"Oh, hello Mikkel. It's nice to see you, too." Canada sent a welcoming smile towards the Dane, and then nodded in greeting at the rest of the newly arrived nations, still smiling.

Arthur, emerald eyes evaluating the situation (Francis had gone back to not-so-subtly glaring at the Dutchman, despite Matthew sitting right in between), then made himself heard, "Good evening, my boy. I see you're already flanked on both sides. Pity. I was hoping to sit next to you for the duration of tonight's event. You know, to catch up on these Games – lovely, I must say – and all." He then paused, faking contemplation before resuming, "Though, I do suppose neither Francis nor your… uhm… partner would mind if I borrowed you for the next hour or so? Just this once?"

Matthew knew that act and accompanying tone of voice all too well. It was Arthur's way of indicating he wanted to have one of his 'talks', yet without outright saying it.

Sighing softly, the Canadian resigned himself to his fate. "No, I suppose not." He then got up from his seat, ignoring the questioning looks Willem and Francis were no doubt sending him (even though no one could probably tell in Willem's case), and joined England's side, where they then headed towards a pair of seats a full section higher than where Matthew had been initially sitting.

"Awwwww, what gives? I thought we were all going to sit together for once! Already that China couldn't make it because of his hockey game against Russia!" Denmark pouted, throwing his arms in obvious disappointment.

Ignoring the Dane, the Dutchman kept himself from cursing under his breath, wishing he had his pipe as he felt France's merciless gaze raking him up and down in obvious judgement.

Though, to his later satisfaction, Canada's curling team would ultimately beat Francis' 12-5.

* * *

Meanwhile, ways away from the rest of the assembled nations, Arthur was discussing quietly with the Canadian.

"And you're positively sure that he did not slip the slightest amount of an illicit substance into what he gave you?"

"Uh… excuse me?"

The Englishman's nostril's flared in vexation as he exhaled. "Did that wanker drug you, yes or no? Really, it isn't all that complicated of a question, lad."

By then, Matthew's eyes had widened in surprise, his eyebrows practically reaching his hairline. "No. No, of course not." At seeing his father figure visibly relax, he inquired after a moment, violet eyes now calculative, "Though… mind telling me who might have given you such an idea?"

The British man was quick to wave off the words, acting indifferent despite his lingering concerns. "Hush now child. It's finally starting. About bloody time!"

Inwardly sighing, Matthew obediently directed his attention towards his athletes, his competitive side quickly overriding his want for answers.

* * *

When Willem next saw Matthew, the latter was conversing animatedly with a greatly pleased Arthur (the Brit's team having beaten Denmark's 9-6).

Bolting out of his seat, he ignored the stares he was sure to be receiving in favor of grabbing Canada's hand and pulling him towards the exit, leaving an offended Englishman and irate Frenchman – not to mention the clueless Danish, Norwegian, Swedish and Swiss nations – in their wake.

"Huh… that kid sure likes his Dutchie if he's letting himself be dragged like that without a fight…"

At that, the remaining personifications turned to the Dane, every one of them wondering with various degrees of interest what Mikkel meant.

"Well… it was just my luck yesterday that America joined me for a night on the town, if you catch my drift. My memories of last night are hazy, but I sorta remember what happened when we came back to the hotel. I recall America knocking at his brother's door to try and drag him into his own room for… well, I don't think I need to tell you the details, only for Canada to slap his hand away and legit start yelling at his face. By the end of it, Alfred was practically in tears what with the way Matt was going on about him being 'the world's resident stupid friggin' hoser' or something of the like." The Scandinavian then tapped his chin in thought, smirking. "Though… it _was_ past four in the morning, and Alfred _had_ just finished laughing at Matt's beaver p.j.'s…"

France raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, prompting the wild-haired blond to continue. "And you were awake at this ungodly hour because…?"

Mikkel laughed raucously. "Well duh! It's the Olympics! I always stay up to celebrate during these times! The Games give me a good incentive to drink! Not that I ever really need a reason, of course. I mean, I'm always down for a good ol' 24-pack of Carlsberg."

There was a pause as each of the nations (with the exception of Denmark) processed this latest development concerning Matthew – though, to be fair, Sweden, Switzerland and Norway were for the most part neutral – until:

"Wait one bloody minute… you went drinking and didn't invite me?"

* * *

End of the Second Chapter – Fin du Deuxième Chapitre

Translations:

 _mon ami –_ my friend (masculine). If you were calling a girl your friend, you would write ' _mon ami e_'.

" _Ah Mathieu, mon cher fils, bonsoir! Mais… pourquoi as-tu l'air si malheureux? Allez, allez, raconte. Attends une seconde, est-ce que c'est cet abruti de Néerlandais? Le monstre! Comment ose-t-il te faire le moindre mal?_ " – Oh Matthew, my dear son, good evening! But… why do you look so unhappy? Go on, go on, do tell. Wait a second, is it that Dutch fool? That monster! How dare he wrong you in any way?

" _Hein? Mais pas du tout! Bien au contraire, il m'rend heureux._ " – Quebec French for "Huh? But not at all! On the contrary, he makes me happy."

 _Il n'y a aucun besoin d'être aussi vulgaire._ – There is no need to be so vulgar.

 _bébé –_ baby

 _mon cher Canada_ – My dear Canada

A/N: All those details about which country won which medal and all… yeah, I did some research, because I want this story to be as accurate as possible, of course! But the fact of the matter is, the Dutch are known as some of the best speed skaters (along with Canadians, and Koreans, amongst others) in the world, so expect Willem and Matthew to be watching some more speed skating later in the story.

Sending you all lots of love from the Great White North (and to those who have exams, lots of success),

~SHnM


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own…

A/N: Next chapter will be the last (and it'll be a long one, too). For now, we get to see some more Japan, and some jealous!America, as well as Canada and the Netherlands of course.

 _Bonne Lecture_!

(which basically means 'enjoy reading' in French, word for word however, it would translate to 'have a good read')

 **Vous n'en savez rien (You Don't Know a Thing)**

DAY 10

Kiku watched the ongoing medal ceremony with a small quirk of lips, eye corners crinkling in a mix of silent wonderment and subtle approval.

It was like a repeat of three days ago. Though this time, a Dutch speed skater had won gold, a Canadian silver, and a woman from the Czech Republic bronze.

"Fifth place again, I see."

Japan kept his gaze on the ceremony, knowing exactly who stood behind him based on his hearing alone. "Good evening to you, Holland-san. Congratulations on your latest victory."

Said nation briefly grunted in thanks, before getting straight down to business – as per his usual. "So, who sent you?"

"…Pardon me?"

"At the women's 1000-meter event a couple of days ago. Who sent you? You're not one to just approach someone on a whim. Especially not if that someone is Canada, since you and all the others tend to forget that he even exists," he spat the last part with more venom than intended, but immediately regained his composure as if nothing, "And idle chatter isn't customary of you either… unless, of course, you have an ulterior motive."

For a split second, Kiku's eyes widened in surprise behind the cover of his bangs, before he calmly answered, "You must be mistaken. No one sent me to do anything."

"I know a lie when I hear it. And you, Japan, are doing just that."

Kiku slowly turned to face the European. "…How di–"

"Your left eye twitched. That only happens when you're nervous," he responded coolly, virescent eyes silently regarding the Asian nation before him, waiting.

For if Willem was anything, he was patient.

And he only had to wait a mere five minutes before Japan finally sighed, giving in:

"His brother. America-san. He was the one that talked me into… 'surveilling' you and Canada-san."

The Dutchman chuckled humorlessly. "Of course. Though surely, he wasn't alone."

To that, Japan nodded. "Correct. There were others. Prussia, France, Russia… possibly China… too many for me to be sure. I only conversed with Alfred; the rest simply watched."

"I see. Thank you for your time." The Netherlands swiftly turned on his heel, taking a handful of strides before making an abrupt stop. "Oh and Japan?" He then glanced over his shoulder, green eyes unwavering and filled with promise. "The next time they come to you, do tell them to cease sticking their noses where they do not belong, or I will take it upon myself to **make** it clear to them that their involvement is quite… unwanted. Frankly bothersome, even."

Kiku nodded curtly in response, the barest hint of amusement softening his features. "I will be sure to tell them."

"Excellent. Have yourself a pleasant evening, Japan." With a nod of his own, Willem headed towards the arena's exit, his beloved anthem _Het Wilhelmus_ playing in the background along with the cheerful voices of his people.

* * *

DAY 13

"Hmm, I see you have slipped to seventh place this time."

Japan inwardly smirked at the comment. "And you did not even make it to the podium. In fact, you did worse than I."

"Ouch. Touché." Willem raised his hand over his heart in mock hurt. "At least Canada managed to get a bronze. But that's not a surprise. Germany winning silver, on the other hand, is though." He paused at that, taking a moment to stare at said German nation, who happened to currently be holding what looked like a lively (at least, concerning Ludwig it did) conversation with Matthew a little more than ten rows down. "Especially considering the fact that this was the 5000-meters. I always assumed his athletes were better at short track," he resumed quietly, distracted.

Kiku hummed in agreement, before following the Dutchman's gaze. "Ever since the World Wars, he has always been rather wary of Canada-san."

"Who, Germany?" The European turned to the smaller man.

Japan nodded. "Yet, despite that, Germany-san enjoys his company. Though that comes as no surprise; Canada-san is appreciated by many once one takes the time to remember him. I assume that is why the other nations have been giving you more trouble than usual. He is the host of these Olympics, and as such was bound to be receiving more attention." He suddenly met Willem's gaze dead on, coffee eyes unreadable. "And it does not help your case when you act like you do not care about him." His face then softened, lips lifting slightly upwards in mute sympathy. " _I_ know better, but the others… well, that is a different situation entirely."

The Dutchman simply stared back, hard-set jaw betraying his otherwise blank expression. On the verge of retorting (something along the lines of telling Kiku to mind his own goddamn business, although he did recognize that the island nation was only trying to help), he was distracted by a sudden nudge at his shoulder, and then a hand gently pulling at his forearm.

"Ready to leave? My feet are seriously starting to kill me what with all the intense cheering I did, and we still gotta head over to the bobsledding event later tonight," Matthew complained, amethyst eyes nevertheless twinkling and crinkling at the corners, as if his previous bout of mild fatigue had worn off to give way to a new wave of zesty enthusiasm.

Behind the North American, Willem could see Germany silently watching on, his ice blue eyes seemingly studying them.

It was unsettling, but the Dutchman slipped on his usual mask of aloofness, refusing to let anything show.

"Uhm…Willem?" Matthew's voice had become hesitant by then.

"Yeah. I'm ready. Let's go," the Dutch nation responded automatically, eyes looking solely ahead as he guided Canada towards the now familiar exit (what with how often they watched speed skating), while failing to notice how possessive he may have looked as he deposited a protective arm around Matthew's shoulders.

Behind them, Kiku restrained himself from gaping, stunned, as a ghost of a smile materialized on Ludwig's lips.

* * *

"That was a good run, bro. I mean as much as I like to win, I can accept losing if it's to you." Alfred scratched at the back of his tuque-clad head awkwardly, eyes darting away sheepishly. "I'm proud of you, ya know. You've done good for yourself so far."

Canada chuckled, his gloved hand stifling the sound. "Aww, you're just sayin' that. But thank you anyways, Al. And hey, I consider bronze to be a win, so you're a winner in my books."

It was America's turn to chuckle. "That's because you're used to getting bronze."

The Canadian gasped in mock hurt. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Whaddaya think it means? You barely win anything else other than bronze, so of course you've contented yourself with only third place over the years," the Southern brother winked teasingly, secretly leeching off the attention his twin was bestowing upon him, greedy and unquenchable.

"Oh why you little meanie, you!" The Northerner suddenly bent down only to shove a fistful of snow down the American's coat but a fleeting moment later, laughing uncontrollably all the while. "Take that!"

Alfred predictably yelped, grimacing at the combination of cold and wet progressively seeping through his clothes. "M-m-mattieeee, th-that was a l-low b-blow. S-so cold now," his teeth began to chatter.

Canada had the decency to look slightly apologetic. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I shouldn't have done that knowing how much you hate the cold. Sorry Alfie. Let me make it better," he proceeded to peck his Southern neighbour's cheek, his arms encircling the other in a purely innocent attempt to give off warmth. "Forgive me?"

Alfred internally grinned; yes, some of the snow had indeed melted into his clothes, but he had managed to get rid of most of it without his brother noticing, and even then, he was wearing so many layers that it hardly mattered. He was merely acting now.

Might as well since Hollywood was his after all, even though Canadians were the ones to have more or less invented it…

"Hmmm," he drawled with practiced Southern charm, tapping his chin in thought, before theatrically shaking his head, "I don't think that's enough Mattie darlin'. I think I deserve more than a measly hug 'n' kiss in compensation."

"Oh?" Matthew, still under the belief that this was all fun and games, inquired playfully, "Then what could I possibly do to earn your forgiveness, oh-ever-wonderful brother of mine?"

America smiled winningly; this was beautifully turning out to be in his favor what with the way he had caught a hint of seriousness in Matthew's tone. "Well, for starters, you could–"

"Oh, hey Willem! You're just in time for the ceremony." Canada began to frantically wave his arms, unintentionally interrupting the superpower.

The American cursed under his breath.

Damn it… he had been so close this time.

Sure enough, when Alfred twisted on himself he immediately spotted the (totally cockblocking, at this point) personification of the Netherlands making his way towards them.

With a sigh, he forced a smile onto his face. "Hiya Holland-dude. Took you long enough. I mean Mattie here did win both gold **and** silver this time." ' _…Not that you really give a damn, right? Tch, 'boyfriend' my all-American ass! Old, creepy pervert is more like it,_ ' he added mentally, darkly.

Willem, on his part, remained impassive. "Yes, well, duty called," the Dutchman lazily raised the hand that was holding his cellphone in justification.

Alfred stopped himself in the nick of time from rolling his eyes, unimpressed and more than vexed. "Uh-huh. Well, just so you know, you're not exactly obligated to stick around in the first place. I mean it's not like **you** –" he spat, "won any medals, what with the fact that this podium is completely dominated by **mine** 'n' Mattie's athletes **only**."

"Now, now Al. We both know what it's like to be a nation, so you're in no position to judge," Matthew non-surprisingly played peacekeeper, some arctic hardness nevertheless lacing his every word.

The American nearly snorted. "Whatever. I'll never understand you, Matt." Alfred's baby blues then shifted back to the podium, making him realise he had missed most of the flower ceremony as the last of the medallists, the gold-winning team, – _his precious Mattie's citizens_ – were receiving their bouquets. All around him, the spectators were cheering wildly, the words 'go Canada go' flowing from their lips like the perpetual flow of the St. Lawrence River.

' _What does_ he _have that I don't? What exactly do you_ see _in this guy Mattie? I just… if you just gave me the chance…_ ' he continued mentally, mood bitter and blue, and teeth gritting behind his tightly sealed lips.

He kept his mouth shut, however. Because the Winter Olympics only occurred every four years, and one of his amazing bobsled teams had just won a medal. So for now, he was going to celebrate, and get positively sloshed with Denmark and possibly Prussia once he got back to the hotel.

He could always confront his brother later.

After all, his girls were playing against Canada's for the hockey gold the following evening.

…And what better than some good ol' ice hockey to settle a serious case of animosity between bros?

* * *

DAY 14

It was well past eleven in the evening now. America sat at the hotel bar, well on his way to getting particularly smashed for the how-many-eth (he had lost count) night in a row as he nursed a soon-to-be empty bottle of bourbon. He had yet to have that confrontational 'talk' he had been meaning to have with his brother, due to a certain someone's appearance on what should have been a 'North American bros only' afternoon.

Canada's girls had ultimately won, not that that was surprising. Though what _had been_ was the fact that the Netherlands had shown up.

Willem van der Meer. Attending an ice hockey match between Canada and the United States of America.

Had Holland-dude finally lost his marbles? Or had the latter been as high as (or possibly higher than) the ever metaphorical 'kite', perhaps?

Alfred knew the Dutch nation to be especially talented in field hockey. But ice hockey? Was that even a thing in the Netherlands? It was not like there had ever been any Dutch teams… at least, not to the American's knowledge.

Despite it all, the fact remained that Willem had watched the entirety of the game without ever leaving. (Alfred had kept a close eye on the Dutchman, after all).

Taking a small break from his thoughts, America chugged the last of the bottle's contents, signaling the barkeep with a smack of the hand to the counter. "Another, please."

Had the whole attendance thing merely been a trick?

It was plausible: Willem acting under the guise of a supportive boyfriend only to fool Alfred into believing that the European genuinely loved his baby bro.

Well, jokes on him! The American had seen the 'real' Willem (which was anything but supportive) on way too many occasions for the superpower to actually buy it.

So, ha! 'When pigs could fly' would be the only time America would ever consider letting himself be convinced of such a thing.

* * *

End of the Third Chapter – Fin du Troisième Chapitre

A/N: The only time a Dutch ice hockey team ever qualified for the Olympics was in 1980, and I'm afraid they didn't do so well (9th place out of 12). They lost 10-1 to Canada for starters, and didn't get the opportunity to play the US since the Netherlands didn't advance to the next round, and because both of these teams weren't even in the same division to begin with (the US being in the blue division, and the Netherlands being in the red one, along with Canada)… So, I figured it would be interesting to reflect that in the story, specifically the part where Alfred doesn't remember the Netherlands ever having a team (I would think that Alfred, considering how long the life of a nation is, would only remember the teams he's actually played against, and even there… he'd probably only remember the more memorable games).

Sending you lots of warm hugs from Canada (even though it _is_ starting to get pretty cold here right about now),

~SHnM


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again for all the support, loves! I appreciate it.

Jett: the name I liked best for Australia.

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, we'd see way more of the Netherlands… (same goes for Canada).

Warning: M rating due to its sexual content (though it's not really explicit or anything).

A/N: In the following chapter we get to see a more sensitive, softer side to Willem. According to the wiki page, the Netherlands likes rabbits and reading romantic poetry (and tulips! Don't forget those!). I mean c'mon! How friggin' adorable is that?! I just had to take advantage of those little tidbits of information (either way, can you really blame me?).

Last chapter folks…!

 **Vous n'en savez rien (You Don't Know a Thing)**

DAY 17, Final Day of Competition

Yep, Matthew seemed to be in luck; he had already played against his Southern neighbour for the gold in the female hockey event, and would now ultimately compete for gold in the male's division as well. A great turnout indeed considering how much he enjoyed competing against his brother, never mind _beating_ him.

("Hockey is Canada's sport dammit and don't you ever _ever_ forget it, Al," he would remind his brother time and time again.)

The fact of the matter was that the Canadian did _not_ want a reproduction of what had happened against that very same American opponent practically a week prior (a loss of 3-5… he would live it down eventually, but it still stung), so this was the perfect occasion to –

"Yo, Earth to Mattie? Do you copy? Helloooooooooo?"

Canada suddenly snapped out of his thought-filled mind as Alfred began to poke him straight in the ribs (which the American knew to be his weak spot, _le crétin_ ).

"Yes, Al? What is it now?" the Canadian asked, miffed and absentmindedly rubbing his sides.

"…Dude, seriously? The big game's about to start! What the hell is up with you?"

The Northern nation simply waved his brother off, too busy realising that yes, indeed, the hockey match everyone had been waiting for would begin within the next five minutes or so, to then take notice of the fact that his favorite Dutchman was nowhere to be seen.

…Hadn't they arrived together?

Brows furrowed, Canada turned to the American at his left. "Where's Willem? Wasn't he sitting right here not even a few minutes ago?" he asked while gesturing to the empty seat at his right.

America simply blinked, face devoid of emotion, before answering, "How should I know? I wasn't even aware that he had been here to begin with. You sure he actually came?"

Matthew clucked his tongue, annoyed and slowly growing anxious, "Of course I'm sure. We came in here together. I'm telling you he was sitting right here!" Again, he pointed to the empty seat at his side, albeit more aggressively. "And he promised me that he wouldn't budge from this spot until the end of the game, and he always keeps his word with me."

Alfred said nothing for a moment, blue eyes a peculiar mixture of steely and resigned behind Texas, "What does it matter? His team isn't the one playing yours. **Mine** Is. So I really don't see why you're making such a fuss. Especially with the fact that should you win this game – your fourteenth gold medal, yes I've been keeping track – you'd be making history: a record for most gold medals won in a single Winter Olympics **and** the title of Winter host with the most gold medals ever obtained, to put it straight." He closed his eyes, pausing, before muttering, "His being here shouldn't be that much of a big deal considering he didn't even bat an eye at your first gold medal."

Canada felt his blood boil, face florid with anger. His lips parted, just about ready to yell some sense into his brother when a hand suddenly landed heavily on top of his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Hopeful, he swiveled in his seat only to meet sky blue irises, Denmark's eyes, most definitely not the pair of peridot green eyes Matthew had been anticipating.

Hiding his disappointment under an overly-toothy smile, Canada (polite as always, of course) greeted the newcomer, "Hey there Mikkel. Come to see the game?"

The Danish nation laughed heartedly, "Not just me. The whole gang is here! Your little Dutchie managed to convince anyone that wasn't planning on attending to come and watch. I'd say it's a friggin' miracle that we're actually all present for once. Almost like one big family, yeah?" The Scandinavian shook his head in wonder, grinning widely.

Violet eyes practically bulging out of their sockets in surprise, the Canadian peeked over the Dane's broad shoulders and sure enough, every single nation – from Greece to Columbia to Senegal to New Zealand, and every country in between – was in attendance, all seeming to be in high spirits and excited for the upcoming event.

And at the very back, leaning against the metal handrail at the top of the section's staircase, stood the Netherlands, smirk self-satisfied and stance boastful.

To which Matthew found himself smirking back, his overly-toothy smile from before now completely genuine.

* * *

"Ah Matvey, how good it is for me to see you. I trust your team will be crushing America's to pieces, yes?"

Canada looked up into the mirror, meeting a pair of purple eyes similar to his own as he simultaneously finished rinsing his hands in the bathroom sink.

The third period of the game was commencing soon, and he still had to stop by one of the many food concessions, upon Alfred's request ("Oh Matt, on your way back d'you think you can stop and get me a milkshake? Blueberry if they have. Or else just vanilla will do, 'kay? Thanks, bro!").

Well what? His brother _had_ asked nicely… and he _was_ the host of these Games…

And his team _was_ very much on its way to pulverizing (a bit of a strong word in this case, but this is hockey we're talking about!) team USA.

It was the least Matthew could do.

Laying these thoughts to rest, the Canadian acknowledged Russia with a nod whilst drying his hands. "Hey Ivan, it's nice to see you too. I'm glad you made it."

The Slav chuckled, the sound seeming forced. "Of course." He suddenly turned serious, lips set in a line as thin as ice. "Pleasantries aside, I am very much curious as to your relationship with spiky-haired man. Will, is it?"

"His name is Willem, actually." The North American studied his Russian counterpart closely, all the while noting that they had somehow become the sole occupants of the washroom despite the arena being jam-packed with people. "What about him?"

"You both seem very… close," he drawled in his heavily accented English, eyes contemplative. "I do not understand how that has come to be. Surely, I would be better suited for you, yes?" he asked bluntly, not one to beat around the bush.

Matthew froze, highly uncomfortable though doing everything in his power not to just bolt through the door. "You're my friend, Ivan," he responded carefully, mindful of his words, like how one spoke when explaining a new concept to a child.

Russia tilted his head to the side, facial features showing obvious puzzlement. "Yes. We are comrades. But that does not mean we cannot be more." Slowly, he made his way closer to Matthew, approaching until the Canadian was caged between his arms, the latter's back pressed against one of the ceramic tile walls. "I am interested in more. And you must know that I am more than willing to provide for you, my little sunflower."

The North American internally sighed, touched by the sheer honesty lacing Ivan's every word. "I'm flattered, really I am." He paused, guilt clawing at his insides at the sight of the hopeful expression on the Russian's face. "But… please understand that I only like you as a friend. Nothing more. Sorry." And with that, he slipped out from underneath Russia's arms and headed towards the exit, forcing himself not to run in the process.

With how long his encounter with Ivan had been, it seemed like Alfred would have to get his milkshake himself.

Canada then halted in his steps at the Russian's next words:

"Regardless of what you are feeling, I am like big, strong bear, while he is but a land of delicate tulips. He is weak. Mark my words Matvey, you will be reaching out to Mother Russia once you see for yourself that he is not worth your time. Until then, I will be waiting, yes?"

His back to the Slavic nation, Matthew curtly answered, his tone leaving no room for argument, "Don't bother. Such a thing won't ever happen. Period. Now if you'll excuse me, I promised my brother a milkshake, and South Korea a talk."

Satisfied by the silence that greeted him, the North American confidently strode through the door.

 _'_ _When will everyone learn… I only have eyes for_ him _.'_

* * *

The United States of America finished yet another game on his phone, bored out of his mind despite his worry. His team was losing and he greatly disliked it. No. The word 'dislike' gave no justice to his current feelings. 'Hate' was it.

Despite not minding losing to Matthew for the most part, he would just absolutely _hate_ it should Canada claim both the men's and women's hockey titles.

Urrrrrrgh, the stress was real!

"Hey mate, you alright?" voiced Australia as he sat next to the American, having just come back from getting himself a beer from one of the many vendors walking up and down the aisles. "Hmm, this Canadian brew isn't all too bad. It lacks a certain kick, though," the Oceanic nation thought out loud after a sip. "Want one for yourself? My treat."

Alfred shook his head. "Nah, thanks. Mattie said he'd bring me back a milkshake. But that was a while ago…. Did you see him while you were gone?"

The Australian locked eyes with the American for a moment, eyes unreadable, before slowly answering, "No. But I have noticed how you've been cracking onto him. It's pretty obvious you like him as more than just a friend or neighbour, y'know."

Alfred frowned, immediately getting on the defensive. "So? Say that I do, what does that have to do with anything?"

It was Jett's turn to frown. "You should stop."

"Excuse me? Did I just hear you tell me to stop pursuing the one person that's actually worth something to me? The one person I actually give a damn about?" The superpower's normally clear blue eyes were now stormy as his anger waxed. "Well then, I'm guessing you 'like him as more than a friend' too, huh?" he spat, using his fingers as air quotes.

The koala-lover sighed, annoyed at his near-brother's pigheadedness. "Crikey mate, ya don't need to be such a John Thomas about it." He sighed once more, carding his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture, before confessing, "Yeah, I'll admit I'm not entirely indifferent to Canada in that sense. But you're missing the bigger picture here. Matthew isn't interested in any of us. In fact, he has alrea–"

"Yeah, whatever Aussie-dude. I'm just gonna go now, 'kay? No use listening to the words of my competition."

Jett smacked himself on the forehead in exasperation. "Oh for the love of the Great Barrier Reef, I'm just trying to help! There's no use getting so mad about it! You're like a cut snake!"

The American simply remained silent, pointedly ignoring the words as he stood up from his seat, only to soon after migrate next to where Prussia was sitting (read: jumping excitedly in his chair as he bet more money on team Canada, though having already collected a mammoth amount of profit from said team having reached the finals in the first place) three rows above.

Australia shut his eyes, rubbing the bandaged bridge of his nose as he muttered the sentence he had been in the middle of saying before Alfred's interruption, "Idiot yank! The fact of the matter is, Matthew has already chosen." He then took a swig of his beer, shoulders drooped in defeat, before resuming dejectedly to himself, "And it isn't us."

* * *

"This is so boring, da-ze. What's taking so long?" From his spot next to China, South Korea whined, having nothing better to do aside from kicking the back of the – thankfully, empty – seat in front of him in pure agitation.

With a small huff of annoyance, Yao placed a pacifying hand on the other nation's shoulders, inwardly smiling as Yong Soo instantly calmed. "The players need their rest, aru. It is best to let them replenish in energy now so that this way, they will be more productive once back on the ice."

A slight crease appeared between the Korean's brows. "I wasn't talking about hockey. I was talking about Canada." Noticing how he had suddenly gained his older brother's undivided attention, he resumed with enthusiasm – and perhaps some not-so-subtle fondness in his tone, "Yeah, Matthew said he would make sure to come back as soon as possible just to talk to me. I think it's to congratulate me for winning all those speed skating medals two days ago. My great people won two silvers and a bronze, you know."

"I see," came China's simple answer, his caramel brown eyes shifting to the referees re-entering the rink, an indication that the game would be resuming shortly. ' _If that's the case, it's probably only to apologize for having won both golds to your two silvers._ '

South Korea, ever oblivious, openly snickered while poking the other's cheek. "Say… you wouldn't happen to be jealous, would you?"

The Chinese nation scoffed, batting the unwelcome hand away. "That doesn't concern you, aru."

"Yes it does. Anything that concerns him concerns me." Yong Soo countered, voice uncharacteristically low, but vehement. "Because Canada originated in Korea. And he loves **me** best of all. Just like I love him."

China turned abruptly towards South Korea, eyes wide with question – and perhaps a whisper of bitter longing. "Impossible. You never informed me of this."

"You forget that even I have my secrets. But the fact remains, Canada belongs to me, so it's only natural we love each other, da-ze!"

"Oh? And just when were you planning on telling me this Yong Soo?" cut in a third voice from behind.

Both Asians whipped their heads around only to see a highly-amused Canada sitting right behind them, chuckling quietly behind one hand, the other holding what appeared to be a very large smoothie of some sort (possibly a bubble tea without the bubbles?).

"Uhm, well… you see–" South Korea started only to be interrupted by the arena's loud siren.

Matthew stood, ready to leave. "Ah, game's about to start. I guess the rest of this conversation should be kept for later, eh? _À bientôt, mes_ ** _amis_** ," the Canadian purposefully – though still in his usual pleasant tone – emphasized the last word, more than aware they knew what it meant from France often referring to people as such.

"Uh, yeah. See you soon." South Korea waved weakly, China, for his part, looking on quietly.

Yao remained still, waiting until Matthew was far enough away before grumbling lowly, "What total disrespect, sneaking up on us like he did. Must be that stupid European's influence." Internally, however, he felt queasy, qualmish, ' _Does he know? How much did he hear?...No, how much did he_ see _?_ '

Unbeknownst to him, Yong Soo was thinking much the same way.

* * *

Alfred wrapped his arms around Canada's neck from behind, practically hanging off the latter's shoulders like a student's book-filled backpack. "Finally! Just when I was about ready to get it myself," he exclaimed as he nabbed the milkshake in Matthew's hand. "What took you so long?" he proceeded to ask after a sip.

"Doesn't matter. Just shut up and sit 'own, please. Game's starting." The Canadian hurriedly pushed the American off him and into his seat, before sitting down himself. The Northern nation's violet eyes were entirely focused on the puck currently dropping towards the ice to notice the pout America was sending his way.

Canada had not even remarked Alfred's lack of a 'thank you' for the drink; the American purposefully left it out in hopes of riling the Canadian enough into distracting him from the game.

Though, it had become common knowledge amongst nations that absolutely _nothing_ (even a breach of politeness, like in Alfred's case) could gain Matthew's attention once hockey was involv–

"What did I miss?"

Canada turned to smile at the newcomer. "Nothing. It just started." He gestured to the empty seat at his side (that is, the one not occupied by Alfred) with his chin. "You gonna sit?"

Willem watched the interaction taking place on the ice for a moment, before lethargically shaking his head, "Sorry, but I wasn't planning on staying."

Matthew faltered, disappointment evident in his tone, "Oh… okay."

…Watching the whole exchange unfold, Alfred kept himself from crushing his shake, barely supressing his anger.

Just who was this douchebag of a nation to be of such obvious importance to Canada yet not be honored by it? Not take advantage of the attention? Matthew had literally stopped watching what might just well be one of the most memorable hockey games in Olympic history just to respond to Willem's question. Simply because Willem was the one to have asked…

"Yeah, there are matters I must attend to. So, I'll catch you later, 'kay?"

And just like that, the personification of the Netherlands was gone, leaving a sighing Matthew to stare mournfully at his retreating figure.

The sight nearly broke America's heart in half.

"C'mon Matt. It's alright. It'll all be okay. Look on the bright side, you're still winning," Alfred soothed.

Canada turned to him, feigning a chuckle. "I'm not sad, Al. Only a little upset. But thanks anyways. Let's just go back to watching the game."

The Southerner slowly nodded in agreement, calming his unease by taking a large gulp of his frothy beverage.

Guess he would have to once more reschedule the 'talk' he had yet to have with his bro for later. For the time being, he settled on watching the game. Canada was currently ahead by a single point, yet a whopping sixteen minutes remained in the third period.

America planned on giving his all until the very last second.

* * *

"IGGY!"

And the next thing Alfred knew, the puck was soaring past Miller and into his team's net.

It was over. Canada had won.

His beautiful team, they had been so close…

"Good game, Alfie. This was honestly one of the closest hockey matches I've ever witnessed, and I'm glad that it was with you. Thank you so much for being here today. It means a lot, you know."

Turning to his near-twin, the American was met with one of Matthew's rare megawatt smiles, violet eyes glittering like precious gemstones.

To which Alfred ducked his head, hiding his burning cheeks.

Because as much as he hated losing, seeing his brother this happy made it worthwhile. Undeniably.

* * *

It was crazy how yet another Olympics had come to its end already. To many, it seemed like only yesterday since the Opening Ceremony, when in truth it was time for the Closing.

Matthew was simply radiant, beyond euphoric. The nations had just finished congratulating him for his dual hockey wins (and of course, for the overall success of these Olympic Games): a bear hug from Russia ("See, Matvey? I am strong like bear."), handshakes from Germany and South Italy, a congratulatory pat on the shoulder from England, a bow from Japan, words of wisdom from China, flowery kisses from France and Belgium, twinkling smiles from America and Australia, loud 'whoops' of joy from both Denmark and South Korea, and a promise to some of the profits made by Prussia, amongst other things.

Yet, despite the overwhelming happiness currently permeating the air and engulfing his very being, a small part of Matthew felt crestfallen.

Willem was nowhere in sight, and had yet to pick up his calls.

* * *

America slung an arm around his Arctic neighbour's shoulders, asking, "So now that this whole thing is over, d'ya feel up for a long night of celebrating with the others? I think it's safe to assume that at this point, we're _all_ up for a few drinks." He paused to chuckle, before resuming with a hopeful glint in his eyes. "Whaddaya say? You in?"

The Closing Ceremony had just ended, and the rest of the nations were slowly making their way out of BC Place Stadium for the afterparty.

Canada shook his head regretfully. "Sorry. Can't."

Pouting, Alfred prompted, "What? Why? You're the host, Mattie. You of all people should be there."

With a small sigh, the Canadian pushed the superpower's arm away, oblivious to how America winced from the action. "I'm not out of the clear yet, Al. Need I remind you that these Games require a lot of planning even after they've ended? I've still got paperwork to complete, forms to sign, speeches to prepare, letters to send out… and I'd rather get started on it right away before I'm in over my head, you know?" He then thought to himself, ' _Besides, I'm not really in much of a partying mood._ '

America visibly deflated. "Yeah, I guess I understand. Though, you're sure you don't wanna at least make an appearance? This _is_ your night, after all."

Canada responded in the negative for a second time, all the while enjoying the fresh air from outside as they stepped through the exit. "Sorry, but yeah, I'm sure. Have fun without me, 'kay? Oh, and tell the others I'm sorry I couldn't make it. Bye, Alfie." With that, he left the American's side, hailing a taxi only to soon disappear from the venue parking lot.

"Uhm… okay. See ya," mumbled Alfred to himself, despondent and a little lost.

* * *

"What do you mean he's not coming?"

America sighed, rubbing his temples in an effort to ward off the headache he felt coming, before answering England, "Dude. I just told you. Matt has too much work to do 'cause of these Olympics, and so left to start on it early. I don't get why it's such a big deal. China went through the same thing two years ago, and you will too once the Games come to London."

With a derisive snort, the Englishman backfired, "Don't give me that, boy. Everyone knows the Summer Games entail a lot more exertion on a nation than its Winter counterpart, what with there being more countries in attendance. Moreover, he could have always pushed whatever so-called 'work' he has to tomorrow, after a good night's rest instead of after a day like today, so there is no valid excuse for his not being here." He then grumbled under his breath, "He most probably wanted to avoid us, the bugger."

They spent a moment in silence, both trapped in their own thoughts, until Prussia made his way towards them.

"Hey, I can't find Birdie anywhere. You seen 'im?" When no answer came forth, Gilbert eyed the two blonds closely, adding, "What are–"

"You know, that's a good question Prussia-dude," Alfred, ever the smooth one, interjected. "We should go out 'n' find him, don'tcha think? I mean, Matt's being _terribly_ rude by not even bothering to show up, right?"

Nodding, the German-speaker nevertheless raised a pale eyebrow in question. "Okay, sure. Got any idea where he might be?"

"Yes Alfred, _do_ you, perhaps, have an inkling concerning the lad's whereabouts?" England frowned suspiciously, cocking his head as he studied his former charge.

America completely ignored the Brit as he suddenly grabbed the Prussian's arm, only to drag him towards the exit.

"What the–? _Amerika_ , get your hands off _mein_ awesome self!"

As the superpower easily pulled the struggling albino out of the room, England could only sigh, before following suit.

Forget the party, leaving an unattended Alfred with a progressively angry Prussian was a sure recipe for disaster, not to mention a much more interesting evening.

Meanwhile, all three failed to notice the pair of ocean blue eyes that had been watching them intently.

* * *

America inserted the key into his Jeep's ignition, all the while keeping an eye on the two Europeans sitting at the back from his rear-view mirror. "Alright dudes, so this –"

A tap at his window had the American suddenly cutting himself off. He turned only to see a grinning Francis on the other side.

Lowering his window (almost grudgingly), the superpower huffed, "Dude, what the hell? Whaddaya want this time?"

"Frog! Can't this wait?" England added almost immediately, never one to miss an occasion to jeer at the French nation.

"Hey Francy-pants, think you can tell these _dummkopfs_ not to kidnap people against their will? Especially if that person's me? It's so not awesome."

The nation of France went mum, taking a moment to peak inside the vehicle, to then raise an eyebrow at the sight of the irritated-looking Prussian.

"Dude, this is the last time I'm asking: what do you want?"

At that, Francis' attention snapped back to the American behind the wheel. Lips sliding into a charming smile, he justified, "You are leaving to search for _Mathieu_ , so I heard. I simply wish to join you."

"No. That is out of the question, you cheese-breath! I will not accept such an–"

"Hmm… sounds like a plan," Alfred mused, effectively interrupting England mid-tirade.

Said Englishman balked, "Are you out of your bloody mind? How cou–"

"Arthur, we don't have time for this! The more we are, the easier it'll be to find Mattie. We'll split up into pairs. Me and Prussia will take the House of Nations to check the Olympic Chill Lounge and some of the offices there, while you and France take the hotel to check Matt and Dutch-dude's room. We'll text to keep each other posted. Is that clear?"

Despite having asked, the American's tone left no room for argument.

It was rare for Alfred to exert such authority, so much so that one forgot just how intimidating he could be – _is_. Let it never be said that the United States of America was spineless or undeserving.

When silence was all that greeted him, the superpower reiterated his question, each word a deep staccato, "Is. That. Clear?"

All three Europeans voiced a 'yes' in understanding, England's sounding a touch more insincere, a forced approval. Because when Alfred showed this side of himself – a version where leadership and utmost conviction reigned supreme, and all but shone through his eyes, twin depths of bright blue revealing a _glimpse_ of just how truly _old_ this mere 'teenager' was – one, regardless of status, could only comply.

Satisfied, and teeth flashing in a triumphant smirk, America pointed at the empty passenger seat to his right with a leather-gloved thumb. "So, you getting in or what?"

* * *

"Ah, so this is where you have been hiding."

The Netherlands paused in his reading to glance behind himself, to the Japanese nation making his way through the room's double doors. "I'm not hiding," he answered simply, gaze returning to the sheet of paper in hand. "Just finishing up some important work. So, if you don't mind…?"

In a blatant (and rare) display of disregard, Japan swiftly made his way to where the Dutchman was seated. "Work, you say. Perhaps I can help?" Taking a moment to study the document his friend was currently engrossed with, he added, "Or perhaps not, since you apparently now go by the name of Canada, or at least that is what has been inked onto this page." His eyes then shifted to the silent Dutch nation at his side, thoughtful. "You love him deeply, yet are hesitant to show it in public, especially in front of other nations."

Surprised, Willem wrenched his gaze away from the aforementioned document to stare at Japan.

At seeing the unasked, yet obvious question in the other's cat green eyes, Kiku smiled knowingly. "I may seem like someone that is rather ignorant and awkward concerning matters of the heart, but for every year I have spent walking this earth, I have consequently learnt a few things. I know what a person looks like when in love. I recognize the vulnerability that comes with it, see the softness and hidden emotions in one's gaze as they lay eyes on their significant other. Even you, with your air of indifference and neutral façade, change when in his presence. You become more gentle, attentive."

Willem seemed taken aback, almost speechless, before admitting lowly, "It's funny how you have caught on to such a thing when, say, China, who is older than you and claims to be all so wise and mature, cannot."

At that, Japan sighed. "He along with the others are blinded by jealousy. They envy you." Noticing how the Dutchman's eyes had once more turned questioning, he explained, "As I said only days ago, Canada-san is appreciated by many once one remembers his existence. You, I'm afraid, have quite the different image, not to mention reputation. You come off as aggressive, cold, even unkind at times. Thus, naturally, many of the other nations do not understand nor approve the two of you being together, especially the ones that do not know you as well as I do."

The nation of the Netherlands said nothing. Because it was true. All of it.

"Admittedly," Japan started quietly, looking almost apologetic, "I am rather envious as well. I may not speak to him often, nor remember him to begin with, but I am still rather fond of Canada-san. To be fair, I think we all are. He is genuinely kind, a trait many of us do not possess, unfortunately. Even I was surprised when I first found out that he chose you out of all the others that sought his affections. However, that day, when I saw the way you kissed him, how tenderly you were holding him… I felt ashamed for interrupting, despite America's words and the others' opinions of you…" Dark eyes earnest, he resumed, louder this time, "Just know that I support you now. And that I will do my best to prevent the others from hindering your relationship anymore than they have. What you have is precious, and it would be unfair for someone to destroy that because of their own ill will towards you." From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement by the door, having a good idea of who it may be. "Not to mention that Canada-san would most likely suffer in the process. Because it is with certainty that I say he is just as deeply committed to you as you are to him."

The Netherlands pondered on that for a moment, let himself mull over the words. A darker part of him had always questioned why Matthew had indeed chosen him, when clearly there were many other (dare he say better) interested parties. It was uncommon for Willem to deprecate himself in such a fashion, but these lingering voices, his fears and insecurities, had become rather difficult to ignore as of late. Since the start of these Olympics, it was as if they had grown from the piano they once were into a disturbingly haunting fortissimo, reverberating throughout his consciousness just to taunt him.

So deep in thought was he, he never heard the object of said voices near him until Canada suddenly made his presence known, effectively snapping Willem out of his silent musings.

"Hey, you weren't answering your phone, so I came here and… oh, am I interrupting something?" Matthew queried, lips curling shyly at the corners and boot-clad feet shuffling.

Japan took that moment to take his leave, on the way sending the Canadian a discrete bow of his head, to ultimately slip through the doors a handful of steps later.

* * *

Having recently split from France and England, America and Prussia were now making their way through one of the main corridors of the House of Nations, when they nearly crashed into someone while turning a corner.

Alfred smiled at who it was, inwardly wondering what the other was doing there, but choosing not to ask. "Oh, hey Kiku. Listen, have you seen Mattie? You know, Canada? My brother? The host of these Olympics?"

Japan nearly snorted at the evident insolence in the American's tone, when a fictitious lightbulb lit up. Weighing his options, he decided to give his idea a go. "Why yes, I have seen him. He is in the Olympic Chill Lounge as we speak."

"Thanks dude." And with that, the American disappeared down the hall, a still-annoyed Gilbert trailing behind, albeit more slowly.

The Japanese man stood silently in place for a moment, hoping he had just made the right decision.

* * *

The double doors leading to the Chill Lounge were ajar, was the American's first assessment upon arriving.

" _That was just crude. Now, stop trying to distract me. I know you're not telling me everything_ ," came a voice from inside.

Prussia, some little ways behind America, spoke for the first time since leaving the latter's Jeep, "That sounded like Canada."

The words never registered in the superpower's mind however, as he instead wondered who his brother was talking to. Too impatient to wait (and still wanting to have that long overdue 'talk'), America prepared to (heroically, of course) kick the doors open (and possibly save his baby bro from whoever was being 'crude' to him), until a second voice stopped him dead in his tracks:

" _I never could get anything passed you, huh? Well, if you really must know, I sorta just wanted to escape for a while_ …."

Mattie had said he would be working. So why was Dutch-dude there?

Alfred was abruptly reminded that he was not alone when Gilbert suddenly appeared at his side, the latter decidedly confused as his garnet eyes ping-ponged from the entrance to Alfred and back.

Making a quiet shushing sound, America gestured to the evident opening between the doors, to which Prussia nodded in agreement.

Curiosity getting the best of them, they approached, intent on knowing just what would be said next between the two nations in the room.

It was a good thing the opening was big enough to see through.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Canadian traipsed the short distance to where Willem sat, confused by the Japanese man's behavior though ultimately shrugging it off. "You didn't show up for the Closing Ceremony. The game I understand; it's not as if you had any reason to stay besides maybe cheering for me and my men. But the Closing? Your athletes, _your own people_ , were a part of that. _You_ were a part of that. Yet…" the North American momentarily left it at that, demanding answers without outright asking for them.

Willem exhaled noisily, warm breath exiting through his nostrils as he carded a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry. Truly. But with the exception of this evening, I spent all seventeen days of these Olympics encouraging my citizens. My people know that I will always be there for them, that I am immensely proud of them. Though, just this once, I wanted to be there for you, Matthew. You look so tired." The Dutchman carefully cupped the Canadian's face, thumbs gently caressing the dark bags underneath his darling's eyes. "I've been told that you have been overexerting yourself for more than just the past two weeks, in preparation for these Games. You wanted this to be so perfect, but it was. You were perfect out there Canada. You were beautiful, and amazing, and so strong, and most times I don't think I deserve you. You are a masterpiece of a nation a whole ocean away from me, so young and peaceful and rich with so many splendid things, and I…" Willem trailed off, toneless chuckles filling the silence in the room. "I'm but an old, probably crazy European in love with a man that's so out of my league – because face it, it's true – that it's not even remotely funny."

As the last of Willem's words were uttered, a small smile bloomed on the Canadian's lips. "I don't know what brought this on exactly, but I agree that you're getting pretty old." He laughed when Willem poked him in the ribs for the jibe (just like Alfred, the Dutchman also knew his weak spot, to Matthew's great misfortune). "But seriously," Matthew kept his laughter on a leash, batting the other's hands away as his gaze turned serious, "why didn't you show up? Everyone was there but you. Did something happen?"

The European sighed, giving in. "Fine, fine. Well, you see, everyone knows that with the responsibility of hosting the Olympic Games comes a great amount of work. There's a lot of planning, building, and politics involved, amongst other things. So, I decided to keep a close eye on you. Some time ago I asked your boss if I could help you in secret. Nothing too substantial, just some basic paperwork and anything I knew wasn't overstepping the boundaries. He's been aware all along, you know. How stressed you've been over the last few months. How hard you've been working. He would have preferred to have someone in your government assist you instead, but you know me. I could wheel and deal and persuade like nobody's business. Long story short, after a while, he relented and thus allowed for me to take some of that weight off your shoulders. I've spent all day doing just that, because not only are you worth it but I knew it would allow you to relax for a bit instead of worry like you usually do."

Matthew silently regarded the other nation, face scrunching up in obvious disbelief. "Yeah, I'll admit that I have been more nervous than usual as of late, but it's not as if I've been overworking myself or anything. And the only reason I look so tired today is because that insatiable Dutch libido of yours woke me up at the ungodly hour of four in the morning."

Willem smirked, a crooked stretch of lips. "Was it really that late when I made you scream my name last night? I thought my _nether_ regions were earlier risers than that."

Canada immediately rolled his eyes, shoving the older man's shoulder with a huff. "That was just crude. Now, stop trying to distract me. I know you're not telling me everything."

At that, the Dutchman's face instantly fell, normally clear green eyes now somber with something darker. "I never could get anything passed you, huh? Well, if you really must know, I sorta just wanted to escape for a while. Work does just that; it helps distract me from things I don't want to think about. I was going to spend the day with you, and start completing these documents tomorrow, but with what's been happening over the last number of days, well I guess I just needed a reprieve from it all."

Eyebrows drawn in concern, the Canadian prodded, "A reprieve from _what_? _What_ 's been happening?"

"…I'm not made of stone, despite what other people might think," the European began slowly, hesitant. "I'm just not one to express my feelings openly, as you know, and when I do it's only to a select few. Most other nations don't know me as much as they claim to. Though, that doesn't make it hurt any less when I see the way they look at you when you're with me. I spoke with my sister earlier, while you were out fetching the yank his milkshake."

(On the other side of the doors, Alfred's baby blues narrowed behind his glasses.)

"What did she say?"

Willem shrugged, eyes to the floor while slowly shaking his head. "Nothing I wish to repeat." He then leveled his gaze with Canada's. "You know, normally I couldn't care less about what the others have to say about me. But when it's you they're talking about, that's a different story. They think you're crazy for loving me, that you deserve so much better, someone that'll love you back, someone that'll treat you right, and… and not ignore you, or – for fuck's sake – _drug_ you every chance they get." He then sighed, trying not to let his anger best him. "I figured it was more suitable for me to spend some time here, away from you and everyone else, and that I might as well do something productive in the process. The others must have just been _ecstatic_ to see me gone, right?"

Matthew's violet eyes were hard, boring straight into peridot counterparts. "What should I care? Whether they were happy or not doesn't matter to me. Let them think whatever they want: that you don't care about me, or don't treat me right. Hell, let them even think that you drug me! They're not all that far off anyway. They'd probably die of a hard attack if they knew that not only do I consent to casual smoking sessions, but that I enjoy getting high." He internally chuckled at the last part; he could only imagine Arthur's reaction to that tidbit of information, or Alfred's. Even Francis, with his liberal tendencies, would probably wrinkle his nose in disdain.

(Still standing outside of the room, America was livid, barely restraining himself. Prussia, on his part, was practically crying with laughter at just how _pronounced_ the veins in the American's neck had become.)

"But Matt–" he tried to argue only for the North American to swoop down and take possession of his lips.

Canada then stepped back, pulling the other nation to his feet. "They don't know anything, Willem. And _I_ , for one," he punctuated that with a quick kiss to the Dutchman's brow, "think we should leave it as is. Let's keep them guessing."

The European nodded fervently in agreement, virescent eyes gliding over every inch of the Arctic nation's face, from chin to lips to nose to then forehead, with quiet yet utmost adoration. Slowly, he brought his lips to the younger man's neck, kissing and sucking at the junction where jaw became neck. Just as slowly, his hands travelled around the Canadian's waist, to then roam over the wide, muscular expanse of the latter's clothed-back.

Sighing contentedly and eyes fluttering shut, Canada settled his own hands on top of the Dutch nation's shoulders. The spindly fingers clutched at the fabric of Willem's shirt, pulling him closer. After a moment, he whispered, "By the way, I'm not stupid, Willem. I know about some of the others' feelings for me, and I know you know too. That's another reason you left, isn't it? You got tired of hearing them."

At that, the European left Matthew's neck to face him, eyes flitting about the other's face with barely restrained bemusement.

The Canadian chuckled. "Don't give me that look. You're just that obvious to me. And besides, they're not very subtle about it. I mean, South Korea could get pretty loud at times, and China is quite easy to read after a while of knowing him, to name a few." He then paused, demeanor turning serious, "Don't let it get to you, 'kay? We've been through too much together for me to just move on to someone else. In fact, I…" He gnawed at his lip, wondering whether he should speak the utterly cheesy words playing at the tip of his tongue.

"You…?" Willem prompted, admittedly a little _less_ patient and a little _more_ needy than usual.

Recognizing the trace of desperation in the other's voice, Matthew gave in. "I don't think I could ever stop loving you, to tell you the truth. I mean, uhm… being with you feels right, you know? Like it was meant to be." The Canadian's cheeks had colored noticeably by the end of the heartfelt admission, unused to being so vocal about his feelings when it came to Willem.

Because they were some of the rare few that loved without the need for words.

The Netherlands let himself smile in a way reserved only for Canada's eyes, only for Matthew to see, before capturing the other's lips with his own. He then trailed upwards, laying tender kisses from temple to forehead to other temple, crowning the Canadian with his lips. Finally, he murmured, breath ghosting over an ear and voice husky, "Show me, please."

(Both Alfred's and Gilbert's jaws dropped at seeing the Dutchman _smile_. Never had they seen Willem so _happy_. Nor… so _loving_.)

Delicious tingles rippled down the North American's spine, the words leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. "Don't need to ask _me_ twice…"

He hurriedly began undressing his Dutch counterpart, unbuttoning the latter's fancier-than-usual dress shirt to then unbuckle his belt.

The Netherlands chuckled: a low, steady rumble. "Well someone's hasty."

The Canadian let the other's pants and briefs fall to the floor, smirking at his lover before kneeling. "You know what they say: 'please' is the magic word." And with a saucy wink, he took the Dutchman into his mouth.

* * *

Both intruders were speechless at this point. Admittedly, this was a side of Willem they had never seen before. A side they had never even known _existed_.

Gilbert inwardly cursed, trying not to punch the wall beside him in frustration.

Ludwig had been right; the Dutchman definitely cared. More so than he let on.

* * *

"Ready?" Matthew asked, lining himself up with Willem.

The European simply nodded, eyes rendered a deep forest green with want. He then clenched his teeth at the feeling of being entered, his breathing already heavy.

Carefully, Canada moved, pushes and pulls slow. He would wait for as long as his lover needed, hips simply rocking and pace shallow, before allowing himself to go any further.

For they liked this method best. This was often how it unfolded between them.

The Netherlands groaned, hands reflexively grasping fistfuls of silky blond hair. "I know I don't say it enough, but," he paused, exhaling loudly, before resuming with utmost sincerity, "good God, I love you. I love you so much." He then moaned, riding the quickening cadence of Matthew's thrusts, secretly relishing the way his precious Canadian kept pushing him just that bit further against the desk. "My savior. My beautiful _liberator_."

The Canadian was panting, nearly trembled at the sound of those sweet, sweet words. Words spoken like honey off the tongue – like that syrupy caramel found in the middle of those _stroopwafels_ the Netherlands loved so much.

Willem had stated earlier – right after the Canadian's blowjob, which had been fantastic by the way – that he needed to supposedly 'reward Canada for such successful Olympic Games'. Not to mention wanting 'to make it up to the Canadian for missing most of the big game'.

Willem being the master of persuasion and all… who was Matthew to refuse?

Let the others have their afterparty; Matthew and Willem would celebrate their own way.

* * *

"C'mon _Amerika_ , let's bounce. There's nothing left to see–"

Alfred interrupted the Prussian with a finger flick to the latter's forehead, further silencing the albino with a glare.

The superpower refused to leave, wanted to stay until the end. He just needed to make sure that the Dutchman really was treating his Mattie right.

Therefore, he kept watching.

Even if his heart broke that little bit more in the process.

* * *

Utterly spent, Willem fell backwards onto the desk, legs dangling over the edge, and the equally spent Canadian crashing on top of him.

"Matthew, Matt, can't _breathe_ –"

"Oh, m'sorry." Canada lazily rolled over onto the Dutchman's side, willing his breathing to slow.

With a peck to the Canadian's forehead, Willem forced himself to his feet, picking the dress shirt he had previously been wearing off the floor. Instead of putting it back on, he began cleaning Matthew off.

Regaining his senses, Canada gasped. "What are you doing? Don't dirty your clothes because of me. That shirt looks super expensive!"

The Netherlands softly chuckled, continuing to gently wipe his lover clean. "Don't worry about it." He then lowered his lips to the other's chest, kissing the skin there, before murmuring against it, "You are of much more value to me than my clothing."

Sighing, the Arctic nation relented, letting himself be pampered without a fight.

Discarding the soiled garment after having used it on himself, the Dutchman climbed back onto the desk. "Y'know, I'm glad the Games are over. They kept you so busy it almost felt like you were abandoning me," he lightly accused in between soft kisses to his lover's collarbone, the thumb of one hand all the while brushing over Matthew's cheek in a circular motion.

"Mmm, I always seem to forget how often you need to be taken care of." His breath suddenly hitched when the thumb that had been at his cheek lowered to his nipple, tugging.

Willem shrugged. "What can I say? I need my daily doses of Matthew." The Dutchman punctuated that with another quick tug. He then brought his hand up to the Canadian's nape, playing with the hairs there. "And I think I'll be needing my next fix soon."

A small smirk blossomed on Canada's lips, violet eyes twinkling with promise. "I think I can arrange that."

* * *

From their position at the door, Prussia turned to the American nation at his side. He wordlessly tilted his head, quietly gesturing towards the end of the hall, where the exit was located, to which Alfred just as silently nodded in agreement.

Together, they showed themselves out of the building, both feeling utterly defeated, yet inwardly admitting to themselves that neither one of them (nor anyone amongst the nations, for that matter) could even come close to the way the Netherlands – no, it was more than just a nation thing, wasn't it? – _Willem_ loved Matthew.

It simply could not be emulated, for one could not possibly compete.

Matthew had been right all along:

 _"_ _No one could ever love me more than Willem does."_

And so, they finally understood.

* * *

End of the Fourth Chapter – Fin du Quatrième Chapitre

Translations:

 _le crétin_ – The jerk

 _À bientôt, mes amis_ – See you soon, my friends

Some more Aussie lingo:

'To crack onto somebody' (in this case Australia was talking about Matthew): means 'to flirt with someone'.

'To be a John Thomas about something': apparently means 'to be a dick about it'. (I legit died of laughter at this one. To any Australian reading this, do you guys actually say that? Lmao! Just who is this John Thomas guy, and what the hell did he _do_ to deserve _this_?)

'To be as mad as a cut snake': Aussie expression meaning 'to be really mad'.

Extra info: "Iggy" is what Sydney Crosby yelled before scoring the winning overtime goal. It's short for Jarome Iginla (the teammate that passed Crosby the puck), thus the nickname Iggy.

 **A/N:** Hope you guys liked this (even though I find it to be kinda cheesy… but whatevs; I like cheesy). Alfred and the others got the short end of the stick in this one… but I plan on making it up to them in future stories ;)

Sending you holly hugs and many mistletoe kisses from the Great White North,

~SHnM


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